Cold as Winter, Sharp as Ice
by Shimjim
Summary: As the final pieces of his plan fall into place, Maelstrom does the unexpected. Written for TacoClan's Prin Pardus.


**This is set a few months in TacoClan's future, near the end of leafbare. Duskpaw and Badgerpaw have both become warriors.**

** Disclaimer: Warriors belongs to Erin Hunter. TacoClan belongs to Shadyfeather. Vetis belongs to Wolfgrowl. Duskfrost belongs to Apprentice Writer. Badgerwing belongs to Talon. Shackle belongs to Prin Pardus. Only Maelstrom belongs to me.**

Shackle kneaded the cool, fertile soil with his claws, glancing around warily every few moments. The night was quiet except for the low growl of distant thunder, and dark clouds covered the sky. The scent of the ferns his master had rolled in filled the air. "Permission to speak, Master?"

The silvery tom looked over, startled out of his reverie. "Yes?" he snapped, more edgy than usual. His blue eyes were almost black in the shadows, and his claws clicked impatiently on the ground. There was so much to do in so little time. The season of the thaw was almost upon them, and he still had not acted. _Soon, _Bella's hissing voice crooned in the back of his mind. _Soon, little one. Be patient._

"Are you sure this is wise, Maelstrom? I realize that no one has caught you yet, but it is only a matter of time before they find your scent." The large tabby shuffled his paws, his discomfort clear in his voice. It was clear that he didn't want the younger cat going out alone. "Perhaps I should accompany you this time, just to be sure?"

"No," Maelstrom replied immediately, his voice harsh and cool. "I will go alone, and you will not follow. Vetis has assured my protection because of the deal. Surely you haven't forgotten already?" He studied his servant's face, and the austere blue eyes softened slightly. "You have done enough tonight, Shackle. I will be fine. Go home."

The scarred rogue hesitated before nodding. "Yes, Master. Please be careful." Shackle turned and disappeared into the shadowy forest, footfalls barely making a sound as the

Maelstrom watched until his comrade had disappeared entirely and the sound of his footsteps faded away. The tom had always been loyal, if a bit too overprotective. It was a pity that he had to die in the grand scheme of things. _Not necessarily_, a voice in his head whispered.

The white-flecked rogue scowled. _No_, he reminded himself, _that idea was a folly. I won't ponder it any longer. Shackle volunteered himself to die for me, and that's that. The end._ He remained in the shadows as he prowled around the perimeter, checking for guards. Just like the nights before, there were none. With a slight smirk, the young rogue stalked into TacoClan camp, his head held high.

The camp was filled with the fluttery, even breathing of sleeping cats as they dreamed of the coming newleaf that would rid them of the raging storms and snow. It was odd to think that the coming of newleaf would mark his thirteenth moon. If he had stayed with this foxhearted Clan, he would be a warrior by now, just like his brother.

_My brother._ He scowled as the last time he had seen Duskfrost came to his mind, each treacherous word cutting like a claw. _It's been too long, brother. We'll meet again soon enough, and I'll be in change then._ He hissed as he was temporarily blinded on one side, the clouds breaking briefly to let the starlight shine down over the camp. Maelstrom stood in the light for a moment, struggling to see through the blinding brightness. With a final resigned scowl, he turned away back into the darkness and padded towards the apprentice's den.

Maelstrom wasn't exactly sure why or how it had happened. The first time, he had dismissed it as a simple mistake. The second time had seemed a bit more deliberate on his part, but he had still ignored the implications of it. By now, he had accepted it as a part of natural instinct. He stepped inside the apprentice den, carefully weaving between sleeping cats as he made his way to the very back. With Badgerwing and Duskfrost gone, there was more room for him to walk.

"Hello, my dear," he murmured, standing over her sleeping form. "Newleaf is almost upon us, and a storm seems to be coming. Ironic, don't you think? A storm to begin my reign." He cocked his head to the side, eying her curiously.

"It's too bad I'll have to kill you. What did Bella say I would need? Heirs? Yes, I could use you for that." The silvery cat sighed. "But, you see, I just can't have Clanner blood polluting the new bloodline, creating more heretics who don't honor StarClan." He chuckled slightly, leaning down so they were almost nose to nose. "It will be easy, too. So easy."

He pressed one hooked claw to her temple. "A little cut here." One paw hovered just above the back of her neck. "A little pressure there." Glinting fangs barely brushed the white fur on her throat. "A little nip here," he breathed, eyes glittering with satisfaction and slight disgust. "Weak. That's all you Clanners are. You'll see soon enough. All of you will."

"This will be the last time I visit before my attack. Good night, my dear. Parting is _such_ sweet sorrow. Here's something to remember me by." His paw lashed out once, a claw barely nicking her shoulder. A drop of blood welled up from the tiny cut, staining her tabby fur crimson. The apprentice stirred slightly but remained asleep. Maelstrom smirked slightly, although his pale eyes remained hollow and devoid of amusement. He turned and slunk out, leaving dead silence behind him.

He strolled through the camp, blue eyes thoughtful as he made sure of the camp's layout one last time. He had a bit of an obsession with the female apprentice, true, but he couldn't let it interfere with the grand plan. As leafbare died, he would strike, and they would all die, the little apprentice included. He couldn't afford for anyone to be spared. Everyone would die, even his own forces if it was required.

Maelstrom paused at the camp's border, considering the possible death toll that would come from his triumph. Cats from both sides would die, most assuredly. Even his most loyal cat, Shackle. The old rogue had struck a deal with the devil for him, all so that the plan would succeed. _But StarClan rewards those that are loyal, do they not? The plan will succeed if StarClan wills it to, as they already have. Should your only friend die for your cause?_

Maelstrom scoffed. Friend? Shackle wasn't his friend. A trusted ally, yes, but not a friend. He didn't need _friends. _He needed soldiers, martyrs, bait. Shackle had proved his loyalty time and time again, but only because it was his job to do so.

_Either way, you owe him, _the little voice in the back of his head countered smoothly. _He's taught you how to hunt and fight and survive. He showed you kindness. He's been a better father than Lelouch could have ever dreamed of being. You owe him, and a good cat always pays his debts._

_ I've given him a purpose, haven't I?_another part of his mind countered. _He was raised to do __those things. It would be like rewarding a sparrow for flying or praising a kit for sleeping. I've given him a purpose, made him the head of my forces, and given him my trust. What, pray tell, do I owe him?_

_ You owe him a chance to live. This plan will take it all away._

_ I owe him nothing._

_ He's served you without question—_

_ He does what he's told, but I don't owe him—_

"Enough!" Maelstrom hissed, extinguishing the civil war inside his mind. His voice was nearly lost in the tremendous growl of thunder, punctuated by a blinding flash of lightning. Pale fur bristling, he padded out into the forest, away from TacoClan's camp. The scent of ferns still clung to his pelt, and the smell made him feel sick. He wasn't used to indecision; there had always been a clear path for him. Now the path was muddled and enveloped in shadows, leaving him lost.

He didn't slow his pace until the camp disappeared from view. "Vetis," he growled, "I have need of your services."

The black cat appeared with his trademark stench of sulfur and flurry of smoke, lounging in the swaybacked branches of a willow. "You rang?" he meowed, droll voice somehow overwhelming the crash of thunder.

"I want to make a deal," Maelstrom replied, hollow features cast in shadow as the lightning flashed overhead. His pale eyes gleamed like chips of blue ice.

Vetis lashed his tail, looking rather unimpressed. "You already made a deal. Surely you haven't forgotten. Your servant's soul in exchange for Wolfstar's death. One deal per soul."

"That was Shackle's deal. Now here's mine. When his time runs out, I go instead. A soul for a soul. He's got six moons left." The white-flecked tom raised his eyes to stare right into the demon's. "Do we have a deal?"

For the briefest of moments, Vetis looked surprised. His smug expression quickly returned, however, and his eyes glittered mockingly. "Oh, so you've gotten attached to him, have you?" He flicked his tail. "Well, it _is _an interesting—"

"_Do we have a deal?" _Maelstrom repeated, voice barely above a murmur.

The demon paused before nodding, eyes glowing in the darkness like nothing natural. "Deal. I'll be around to collect shortly. See you in six moons, Maelstrom."

"Wait. I want you to promise me something."

"Oh?" Vetis said, sounding amused. "And what would that be?"

"No one can know about this, especially not Shackle." Maelstrom stared up at the tom. "Keep this to yourself, please." His voice rang with conviction and a faint hint of desperation.

The demon smirked. "I'll do my best. Take care of yourself, kit. I want that soul in good condition when I come to get it." Thunder roared in Maelstrom's ears as Vetis vanished.

The silver tabby took a deep breath and began walking once again, back to the tunnels that he called home now. He had to be strong, because he was Maelstrom. And Maelstrom didn't love or show emotion. Maelstrom didn't need friends. Maelstrom was ruthless and cold and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And, perhaps most importantly, Maelstrom didn't care about anyone.


End file.
